


Cat's Eyes

by DrWorm



Category: The Last Unicorn - Peter S. Beagle
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 16:49:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrWorm/pseuds/DrWorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Adventures,” Schmendrick mused, “look for men like Lír. The rest of us are lucky to get one a year, if that.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cat's Eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DWEmma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DWEmma/gifts).



In the end, they took the cat when they set out from the land of King Haggard--or, rather, the cat took himself, and just happened to choose the same road as Molly and Schmendrick and Prince Lír. When this road was rough, and the horses deliberated over every other step, the cat trotted along ahead of them with his tail held high in the air, twitching at the stragglers like a crooked finger. He did not contribute to their conversation, such as it was, and every now again he would disappear into the brush at the side of the road to pursue his lunch. When Lír urged the horses on at a pace too fast for a cat's paws, the cat would leap into the saddle and curl up in front of Molly, where he would sleep despite the jouncing rhythm of the ride.

And so, in this way did the cat accompany them to Hagsgate, and to all the newly blossomed towns full of dour and suspicious folk that made up the land now ruled by Prince Lír. At nights, the cat would curl up and Molly's feet and spend hours on his toilet, thoroughly washing away the evidence of travel. Though he devoted all apparent attention to this task, still every now and again his ears would swivel and he would lift his head, showing the tip of his pink tongue, and his eyes would roll to one side, then to the other. Molly questioned him in a whisper: “Is it her? You can tell when the unicorns are near, can't you?” But the cat would respond with a haughty look, then turn his attention to the fur between his toes. If she tried to pet him, he would stand and stretch and resettle himself facing away from Molly and out into the darkness that did not move until dawn. 

On the night when they each saw the unicorn in their dreams, Lír and Schmendrick and Molly each saw the cat as well, and heard him miaow in the moments before they woke. But none, not even Molly, thought to ask the cat what the unicorn had said to him. 

After Lír left them, Molly and Schmendrick and the cat traveled aimlessly on their own for several days. For lack of a better adventure (“Adventures,” Schmendrick mused, “look for men like Lír. The rest of us are lucky to get one a year, if that”), Molly and Schmendrick agreed to retrace their steps, until they passed the wood where Schmendrick and the unicorn had met Captain Cully, Molly, and the rest of their dispirited band of wanderers. Then, stirred by a certain morbid fascination, the quiet urge to gloat, and the need to know himself as the magician he was, Schmendrick chose the road that would take them to whatever might remain of Mommy Fortuna and her Midnight Carnival. But the closer they came to Mommy Fortuna's final resting place, the more Schmendrick was preoccupied with dread of the harpy Celaeno. He told himself that a harpy wouldn't stay in a rural wood to lord over the corpse of an old woman, but this seemed to have more hope than truth in it. 

As they rode, the cat took to striding beside Schmendrick's horse—for Schmendrick had quickly acquired another horse for himself to replace the one he had given to the Princess Alison Jocelyn after it had become clear that a magician, a woman, and a cat on the back of one horse made for cramped traveling conditions. This sudden attention made Schmendrick uncomfortable, as every time he looked down, the cat was looking back up at him. A cat's stare is always a knowing one, although what precisely it is they might know is never so certain. Once or twice, he thought he heard the cat snigger.

Soon the three reached a fork in the road. Schmendrick led them to the left. “It's a shortcut,” he explained. But before long their progress was impeded by a magnificent cobweb that stretched across the entire breadth of the road. Stunned, Molly and Schmendrick dismounted to stand before the vast, dense, delicate tapestry. Dew shimmered like opals where it had caught on the threads and, if the viewer swayed gently from one foot to the other, it was just possible to make out a pattern in the warp and the woof. After careful study, the graceful suggestion of lines resolved into a figure that was all too familiar. 

“It's _her_ ,” Molly gasped and tugged at Schmendrick's sleeve. “But who made this? Could it have been... elves?”

“No. No elf could have made this. It was Arachne,” Schmendrick said, with a marionette's smile that showed he did not believe his own answer. “She has been busy.”

A lower corner of the web had become unmoored from the tree trunk on which it had been anchored. It moved slightly, caught by the breeze. The cat crouched, tail twitching, then arced through the air with a hunter's purpose. One paw struck at the loose threads, which unraveled further as the web stuck to his fur, quick as taffy. 

Molly grasped the cat around the middle and hauled him to her chest. “You mustn't destroy something so beautiful,” she scolded.

“But I am a cat,” he replied, “and it is my nature.”

A small, dark form appeared at the bottom of the web and moved like a mouse along the baseboards to the point of ravage. As they watched, she assessed the tears with her long, careful legs, then began to weave repairs before the eyes of her audience. 

“Just a spider,” Molly murmured and turned to Schmendrick. “Is it really Arachne?”

“Of course not,” Schmendrick scoffed, but there was uncertainty in the way his eyes moved over the light of the web, light within silver light. “We'll go back,” he said. “To where the road split. The other path will take us around.”

Molly dropped the cat and they turned the horses around, but did not bother to remount them. Molly snuck a last look over her shoulder at the web, but Schmendrick stared resolutely forward. His eyes scarcely lifted to the sky at all. “I warn you,” he said when they returned to the place where the road diverged, “the path we are about to take may be fraught with peril. There is almost certainly worse than a spider waiting for us.”

“Why? Where are we going?”

“The place is not special. I just wanted to pay my respects to a former employer.”

Molly clutched her horse's bridle, twisting it in her hands. “How former is this employer?”

“She has departed from this earthly realm,” Schmendrick admitted.

“I see,” Molly said. Schmendrick expected her to ask him more questions, but she did not, and so they walked together in silence with the cat between them.

They had not gone far when a soft slithering sound sidled overhead. “There is magic in these woods,” the cat muttered as Molly and Schmendrick held back their horses.

“Unicorn?” Molly asked, blindly hopeful.

“No,” Schmendrick said. He addressed the cat: “But I don't understand why there would be magic here. It should have faded when she... departed.”

“She?”

“Mommy Fortuna.” Schmendrick waved a dismissive hand in the air. “An old witch. Her magic was nothing to speak of.”

“Not her,” the cat growled as he paced back and forth between them, nose to the ground. “No, not her.”

“But the spider,” Molly protested. “What could that be, except for a unicorn's magic?”

“The magic of belief,” Schmendrick said. “And a creature with too much time on its hands.”

Again, they heard a whispering, hissing noise from the canopy overhead, like breath drawn through clenched teeth. Schmendrick's head fell back and he struggled to see through the foliage. So thoroughly camouflaged were the looping coils of the serpent that they seemed to be patterned with a frieze of leaves and twigs. “The Midgard Serpent?” he wondered and chuckled. 

“What?” Molly pinched his elbow through his cloak. “What are you talking about?”

“Can't you see it?” He pointed up into the trees. 

Molly craned her neck and lifted one hand to her mouth when she spotted it. “A snake?”

“The snake to end all snakes,” Schmendrick said. “But let's keep moving.” But soon, as they walked, they heard burbling laughter, like a hyena in the rain, coming from the woods to their left. “The satyr,” Schmendrick said, and Molly gathered her skirt a little tighter around her knees. To the right, they passed the rumbling, yet unexcited, complaints of some creature whose roars could have caused cracks in the stone, if it so wished. “The manticore,” Schmendrick explained. The cat yowled a retort, and though it sounded as fragile as birdsong to his companions, the grumbles from the forest stopped immediately.

Then they reached the clearing, and there stood all of Mommy Fortuna's carts, just as they had stood on the night he and unicorn had escaped. There were two heaps on the ground, like forgotten piles of old clothes. “Stay here,” Schmendrick told Molly. He handed her the reins to his horse and stepped out into the clearing. The cat followed, cantering over the patches of high grass. 

The bodies of Rukh and Mommy Fortuna were husks, shriveled and made more ancient by the wind and the elements. “Ugh,” Schmendrick said, bending over Mommy Fortuna, whose jaw was open wide in a permanent scream of post-mortem agonies. The cat circled Rukh, then scratched at the dirt, trying to bury him. “Well,” said Schmendrick when the cat came to examine Mommy Fortuna, “what do you think?”

“I think their livers have been eaten.”

“Should we bury them?” 

The cat did not deign to answer this. “What is it that remains?” he asked, pacing around Schmendrick. “The place stinks of it.” 

“Well, Mommy Fortuna had the manticore, the dragon, the satyr—”

The cat's tail slashed impatiently at the air. “None of those,” he said. “No, those are only shades. They are magic now, but weren't always. What else?”

Schmendrick gave in. It was difficult not to, under those appraising yellow eyes. “The harpy, Celaeno. But I can't think why she would have stayed.”

“A harpy,” the cat said. He toyed with a clump of Mommy Fortuna's hair. When he yanked at it with his claws, the hair pulled free from her scalp. Schmendrick winced. “Yes, a harpy's magic is strong, and stronger still for having eaten from the witch. Besides, one place is as good as another, when you're immortal.”

“But what could she want?” Schmendrick asked. He turned in a circle, looking all around the clearing. The sun would be setting soon. He thought of the spider who had become Arachne and the web she now maintained. “Could it be the unicorn? She's kept all those poor beasts here, hoping the unicorn will return, come back to her like a lamb returning to the builders of a cargo cult?” Schmendrick stamped his feet in the flattened grass. “Well, what does it matter? She can have this place, if she wants it. I doubt any unicorns will stumble into her trap.” He avoided the stare of the cat and said, “We should go before the sun sets and she comes out to hunt.”

“Are you or are you not a magician?” the cat said. 

“I am Schmendrick, the magician!” Schmendrick flamed. “I turned a unicorn into a woman and then back again!”

“Then to defeat a harpy... what challenge would that be?”

“I do not know,” Schmendrick admitted. He placed his hands on his hips and squinted toward the horizon, where the sky had only just begun to glow orange. “We'll stay,” he said. “We'll stay and see.” The cat took no notice of him, but pawed in the grass after a beetle that had crossed his path. Schmendrick beckoned to Molly, and she brought the horses forward to meet him and the cat. She made a stricken face when she was close enough that the bodies became more than mere rags. “I know,” Schmendrick said. “But the sun is setting. And there's shelter here.” He pointed out a caravan on the far side. “I used to sleep in that one.”

Molly allowed Schmendrick to take her to the wagon and show her the inside. “It's just as I left it,” he said. And so it was, including the smell of old socks and the moldy pile of oranges he'd used to juggle. He'd muttered a spell like the point of a stick rasping over brick and the smell and the oranges both made themselves scarce. As the sun set, Schmendrick stowed the horses in a spare wagon, then he and Molly ate a cold supper from their packs while the cat tumbled in the grass after field mice, then lay lazily at the foot of the wagon's steps. 

“What are we waiting for?” Molly asked.

“A creature that wishes only death and the eating of our livers upon us,” Schmendrick said. “But I didn't want to worry you.”

Night came, and Schmendrick stood outside the wagon. He watched the moon, knowing that he would surely see the harpy by the air first. “If this should fail,” he said to Molly, “we can't panic and run. We'll stay where we are. If she can't see us, we may just get through the night.”

“Just remember,” she called from the door of the wagon, “you are Schmendrick, the magician!”

The harpy's shadow passed over the stars like a massive owl, gliding on outstretched wings that did not move. Schmendrick knew her small, red eyes searched the ground for prey, especially for the ultimate prey, the flesh of the unicorn. He strode away from the wagon and raised his arms, knowing he would catch her attention soon enough. As the harpy circled closer, he felt her gaze and knew that she recognized him. “You remember me,” he said, and a voice crooned in his head, _Yes, the one who set Her free_.

As the harpy drew near, her wings rose and fell, flapping gusts of air down onto him, wind that was like the air held captive in a long-closed cave. Schmendrick threw one spell at her, and then another. The harpy rebounded, but the magic seemed not to touch her. She came a second time, closer, and their magic met like wind and willow. He bent but did not break, and she gusted overhead again. “I will grow wings if I need to!” Schmendrick cried, in a frenzy. “Do you dare me to take to the air?” 

_A boast_ , the harpy thought. _But I will come to you_. She dived low, lower than before, and knocked Schmendrick to his knees. From the wagon, Molly cried out. Schmendrick sang out a great, booming spell, like a march to war, but before it could touch the harpy, the cat leapt, hissing and spitting, directly onto the beak of the harpy.

They tussled for seconds only, but it was the harpy who yowled and retreated, her wings beating Schmendrick and the cat down, pinning them to the ground as she lifted herself to the air. With the gate of a rolling drunk she flew off, high as the moon, until she was a mote of dust, then nothing at all.

Molly appeared at Schmendrick's side. “What happened? Is she gone?” 

“I don't know,” Schmendrick said. “Where is the cat?”

But it is impossible to find a cat in the dark when he doesn't want to be found. So Molly and Schmendrick huddled in the wagon until morning, sleeping and waiting to hear the harpy's claws on the roof. When they left the wagon, they found they had company in the clearing: a lost-looking dog, a tired old lion, a shabby ape. In the trees, Schmendrick could just spy a snake and crocodile, staying still in the shade.

“What are these?” Molly asked.

“Our Midgard serpent, our satyr, and more besides,” Schmendrick said with a laugh. “Well, we'll bring them with us to the next town and let them decide what to do with them. You can't let these sorts of things hang around where they don't belong.” At the snap of his fingers, all the creatures lined up and piled amiably in to one of the wagons. Schmendrick shut the door on them, hitched one of the horses to the wagon, and then turned on the cat, who had been at the rear of the procession but had declined to enter the wagon himself. “And you. Where have you been?” The cat said nothing, so Schmendrick crouched down. “What did you do?” he whispered urgently. “What kind of magic did you use to send her off like that?”

“Oh,” the cat said, “it was no magic.”

“Then what?”

The cat extended the claws on one paw and scratched lines in the dirt. “I took out her eyes,” he said simply. “Always best to go for the eyes. Now she'll never be back. She'll never be able to find this place. She may never even return to the ground.”

“When you say you took out her eyes,” Schmendrick said, “you don't mean that you...?”

But the cat only licked his chops, yawned, and never said another word on the subject.


End file.
